The farmhouse in Forkhill was in complete disarray. Dessie had surprised Catherine with a raging party to celebrate her thirtieth birthday, and ring in what was expected to be the most difficult, yet most rewarding year of their lives.

There had been no shortage of alcohol, leaving the couple to feel the aftermath of their gluttonous behavior.

"Just drag me out into the yard and shoot me. Put me out of my misery," Dessie groaned, sitting on the bathroom floor.

He pushed his hair off his sweat-slicked forehead, hating the feeling of every muscle, joint, and bone aching. His head pounded, his stomach hurt, and his throat was on fire from having spent the last half-hour puking.

Stepping over him, Catherine sat on the edge of the tub. She cracked open a can of warm Sprite and handed it to him.

"Never again will I let ya convince me shots of potcheen after a bottle of whiskey is a good idea."

"Shots?" Catherine laughed. "You poured the bottle into a bowl and made us all drink from it like it was the bloody Communion chalice."

Dessie took a slow sip of Sprite and tilted his head to the side, trying to piece together the events of the night. "So I did do that, didn't I? Either way, you're supposed to be the sane one and tell me to knock it off when I come up with such brilliant ideas. It's your fault for encouragin' me."

"I encouraged ya because it was a brilliant idea." Catherine's face twisted when he hawked a loogie into the toilet and flushed. "Oh, that's attractive."

Dessie rested his head against the wall. "I said the same about you when I was holdin' your hair back as ya barfed over the railin' of the porch. Brought a wee tear of pride to me'eye as I thought, yep, that's the mother of my future children."

Catherine slapped him on the arm.

"I still can't believe ya know every damn word to No Sleep Till Brooklyn." He set the Sprite on the tank of the toilet.

"I'm slightly offended you had such low expectations for my musical tastes. I'm also impressed ya even know who the Beastie Boys are."

"Oh fuck off," he said, playfully kicking her. "I'm not that old; I was twenty when Licensed to Ill came out. Kieran and I use to blast that shite when we'd pack mags, and clean the guns."

"Twenty, huh? I was-"

"Don't ya finish that sentence."

A soft knock on the door stopped Catherine from replying with a smartass remark. Dessie told whoever it was to come in, and once she saw it was Rory, Catherine tried pulling Dessie's t-shirt which she was wearing, down a little more to cover her exposed thighs. Rory was only in his boxers, his blonde hair sticking up in several directions. He looked like he was hurting just as much as they were.

"How ya feelin'?" Dessie teased with a smile.

"You arsehole. Potcheen...never a-fuckin'-gain" Rory felt his stomach churn as the word 'potcheen' left his mouth. He'd forgotten just how potent the Irish version of moonshine could be, and intended to never put another drop into his body. Leaning against the doorframe, he scratched his hairless chest, hating to be the bearer of bad news so soon into the new year. "Got a call from a lad in Donegal; Kings are on their way."

"Cross?" Catherine asked.

"Belfast. They wanna talk to all of us about somethin'."

Running her hands through her hair, Catherine swore under her breath. "What are we gonna do with Sean? If we're bein' called to St. Matt's, my Da is too, and my Ma's in Scotland."

"He's fine at my place with the girls," Rory tried to set Catherine's mind at ease. "The wife's gonna head home and check on 'em, so if plans change and ya can't make it back down, she can drive him to Belfast."

"Any idea why they're comin'?" Dessie pried.

Rory shook his head. "Walsh didn't say. Just that we're to be at St. Matt's by two, and it's nearly eleven now so we better get a move on."

Dessie told him to go wake the rest of the guys sleeping off their hangovers downstairs. Easing up onto his feet, Dessie shook four capsules of pain reliever into his hand, washing them down with water straight from the faucet. Catherine gnawed on her long thumbnail, her heart starting to hammer as her stomach filled with butterflies.

"What do ya think it could be?" she wondered.

Resting his back against the sink, he ran a hand through his bedhead. "No bloody idea."

To say he was irritated was an understatement. Dessie had planned to spend a quiet day back at his flat with Catherine and Sean. With Eamonn in Dublin, he wanted to use the time to bond a little more with the guarded boy.

"I'm hopin' this isn't about my call with Misha."

"I don't think it's about that," he confidently assured. "Jimmy'd already be here, beatin' our faces in with a pistol if it were. You jump in the shower first, I'll make some calls to the fellas up north and see what they say."

Catherine trusted his intuition. She had no reason not to; the attack on the PSNI station ended exactly as he said it would. Neither he nor any of his crew had been brought in for questioning.

Dessie kissed her forehead, then left her to shower.

When it was his turn to jump in, Dessie spent more time just standing under the hot water than he did washing. All of his attention was on Catherine. She stood in front of the mirror in only her bra and panties, her hair still wrapped in a towel as she applied her makeup.

Every man in the True army knew one thing about her - the more makeup she wore, the more anxious she was. With the smoky eyes and a heavy coat of rich red lipstick on her Jolie lips, she looked almost unrecognizable. Dessie wondered if he should take her off the logistics of setting up Oglaigh na hEireann. She didn't need this stress weighing severely on her shoulders.

Unfortunately, he was smart enough to understand he'd lose either way. Pushing her back to only her courier position would be met with resistance. She'd undoubtedly accuse him of thinking she couldn't handle the transition phase, but it was gutting him to see her living in a state of constant dread.

She wasn't sleeping, and she replaced food with cigarettes. The sooner Dessie claimed leadership, the sooner they'd both be at ease.

Turning off the water, Dessie stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He slapped Catherine on the ass, laughing hysterically when her hand slipped making her draw a line of red lipstick up her cheek.

"You're an arse," she chuckled, scrubbing the lipstick off with the corner of a damp hand towel. "You've made me mess up my foundation. I'm gonna have to do it again."

"Ya don't need that shite, so I say just wash it all off." He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed on a glob of paste after wetting it.

"I'm thirty now...I'm an old-hag. I need it to look halfway decent."

As he brushed his teeth, Dessie glared at her. He took the toothbrush out of his mouth, and minty foam ran down his chin as he spoke. "If you're an old-hag, the fuck does that make me then?"

"You're like a fine whiskey, baby," Catherine purred, running her hands up his warm sides. "You get better with age."

"You're gonna make me puke again, and you're so fuckin' full of shite! Ten years ago, when I was in my prime, ya wanted nothin' to do with me."

"You intimidated the hell outta me, so ya did! Then I learned ya do have a heart and you're a good man."

Despite his mouth being covered in toothpaste, Catherine kissed him.

"Don't be goin' off and sayin' that to the lads."

Catherine mimed zipping her lips. "Your secret is safe with me."


The small room in the basement of St. Matt's was packed. Catherine guessed all of the south Armagh units and over half of the ones in Belfast were there.

Off to the side near the front of the room where Brendan, Peter, Declan, and Galen stood with Jimmy, Dessie wrapped Catherine in his arms. He tucked locks of hair behind her ear.

She rested the back of her head against his chest lowering her voice just enough so only he heard her. "I really thought they would have court-martialed Jimmy by now."

"Me, too," Dessie muttered. "When did ya tell the Kings about him wantin' to lead ONH?"

"Back in October. The day after you set us up to meet with Mickey in Dundalk."

It frustrated Dessie to see the chips weren't falling exactly how he'd envisioned them to. He got a little too confident in his plan to have Jimmy court-martialed and eventually excommunicated. But he couldn't get too upset over the Kings not taking the bait, because he felt like the biggest ass in the world for having asked Catherine to set herself up.

Ever since Catherine told Dessie the truth about Darragh, his vision had completely changed. He no longer intended to make peace with the Kings and figure out a way for the two groups to peacefully coexist. Now, he wouldn't stop until they were in the ground.

"When I dropped Eamonn off with Jimmy, he threatened again to tell ya about Ian, and how I touted. Sometimes I wish he'd stop bein' a pussy and out me already, just so he can look like a dick."

Dessie snickered, "Baby, he does a fine enough job already of makin' himself look like a dick."

He did have a point.

When the Kings eventually took control of the meeting, Catherine didn't like the direction it was going. All Peter and Galen spoke about were how this year would mean big changes to the structure and workings within the True army. At first, it worried her that they were putting them all on shorter leashes as if that was even possible at this point.

Everyone was confused by what Declan meant when he said the True IRA would be expanding. How much more could they expand? They already controlled most of Northern Ireland and parts of the Republic.

Jimmy handed Catherine a piece of paper. "This is the statement that'll be released to the press later tonight."

Moving out of Dessie's arms, she snatched it from his hand and read it to herself. Tension built in the room as her face became flush and her brow furrowed.

She then read it aloud:

"Followin' extensive consultations, Irish Republicans and a number of organizations involved in armed conflict against the armed forces of the British Crown have come together within a unified structure, under a single leadership, subservient to the Constitution of the Irish Republican Army." Catherine threw the paper back at Jimmy. "Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me with this shite? Extensive consultations, huh? None of us were bloody involved in those talks!"

She couldn't understand why so suddenly the different groups were merging into one. Sure, they all shared the same main objectives, but they all had different ways of going about them. Catherine was seething. Not only because she wanted no association with the units in Derry, but mainly for the fact all of this happened right under her nose. This wasn't a decision made and formalized overnight. It had to have been in the works well before she was demoted and yet, Jimmy never said a word to her.

"What other organizations?"

Galen hushed the rowdy crowd before answering. "The Irish People's Liberation Organization, Republican Action Against Drugs, and - and the Real IRA."

At the mention of the Real IRA, the room exploded once more with words of detest. Catherine turned to look at Dessie. She pursed her lips and shook her head, his face remaining unmoved. Most of them despised the Real army; they were abrasive and aggressive, too often stirring up trouble for True army units in Belfast and south Armagh.

"Ya really expect us to play nice with the gobshites who tried to kill Catherine, Dessie, and his crew? Jesus, Jimmy, you were there, too, that night. How could ya approve this?" A Belfast volunteer bitterly spat.

Jimmy knew he had to tread carefully. "This is an instance where personal issues need to be put aside. Our main focus in on buildin' a strong, unified presence. The former leadership of the Real IRA assured us what happened was a rouge incident and those blokes were dealt with."

Dessie shared an eye roll with his crew when the blatant lie so easily spilled from Jimmy's mouth.

Rouge incident? Dessie thought. That was a funny way of referring to an attempted assassination sanctioned by the Kings.

"Let me guess," Patrick started. "This single leadership youse speak of is the Kings."

Declan nodded. "Aye. We'll be overseein' the entirety of Northern Ireland, and the fellas in Donegal. The Continuity army is standin' firm on remainin' separate and holdin' their areas south of the border."

"We want the six counties hot again. Dessie, that means we wanna see more activity between Newry and Cross, while Jimmy's focus'll be Belfast. The guys in Derry have already been briefed on what we wanna see from 'em," Peter added.

Dessie wasn't gonna complain about being given the thumbs up to get back to work, but he didn't ignore the swell of apprehension in his gut. After a relatively quiet four years, he wondered what the King's angle on this was. It seemed too good to be true.

He reached out and grabbed Catherine's hand, pulling her back against him. As he wrapped her in arms again, he ignored the death glare from Jimmy.

"This is my final offer O'Toole," he whispered. "Ya wanna stay in Belfast, or ya wanna join me in south Armagh?"

A tight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. For eight years now he's been trying to convince her to jump units, maybe she's made him wait long enough.

"Only if ya agree to move out of that flat, it's too small-"

Jimmy overheard Dessie's question to Catherine and the vein in his forehead nearly popped. He couldn't lose her to a unit in south Armagh - she was too much of an asset to him in Belfast. He was infuriated with her, but there was no one else who could move vast amounts of guns as she could.

He cleared his throat, going into damage control. "A larger, more active campaign means we're gonna need to be movin' more stock to keep us flush. Catherine, I want ya back on the shipments comin' in from Dungloe. Dessie, you'll be back on the Dublin shipments next month. In addition to what comes in from Boston, we're workin' on a deal in Malaysia. With the Real army now under our control, that means we can start sellin' smokes in the northwest pubs. I'm also ironin' out a deal in Jabalia to bring more guns to SAMCRO."

Catherine felt Dessie go rigid behind her. She knew his desire to say something to Jimmy was excruciating, but he wasn't the type to throw a tantrum. He'd deal with it later, and quietly.

They agreed though, that she'd step back from the gun trade to focus more of her attention on moving cigarettes. In the last couple of decades, a handful of men in the IRA have gone down on weapons trafficking charges, while not a single one of the south Armagh lads have never been arrested for their illicit business. The pay off was nowhere near the guns, but Catherine would rather have her freedom.

The friction was palpable as they all spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of St. Matt's. As most of the men wandered off to their cars in a huff of bitterness, Catherine and Dessie were the only two seeing the bright side of the King's horrible decision.

Crossing the street, Patrick, Catherine, and Dessie stood in a close circle. Dessie told the rest of his crew to meet him back in Crossmaglen, where'd they talk about the looming changes.

"They're fuckin' scared," Patrick said, lighting a cigarette. He handed the lighter to Dessie. "They're only doin' this because they know they're losin' control. They think bringin' in all those other lads will mean they have more support."

"They didn't talk to any of us, because they knew we'd oppose it. One council tryin' to hold this much power is exactly what led to the Provo's splittin' in the first place." Dessie slid on a pair of sunglasses. He was still horribly hungover.

Catherine added, "Once everyone else sees the Kings are only in it to make money off the heirlooms, they'll be scramblin' to reorganize their old operations."

"Youse in a hurry to get back to Cross?" Patrick asked.

Catherine looked at her watch; it was half-three already. "Kinda. We gotta be gettin' back to pick up Sean."

"We can spare an hour." Dessie looked at Catherine and shrugged. "Rory owes me for all the times I spent watchin' his wee ones."

"Meet me at the Rock for a pint, then. I promise it'll be worth your time."

They agreed, knowing full well Patrick was a man who shouldn't be underestimated.


Thankfully the pub was rather quiet, but that was expected. Dessie placed three pints on the table, then went back to the bar to fetch another. He slid into the booth beside Catherine. She placed a light hand on his thigh, taking a sip of her beer. It tasted like bad decisions.

Patrick snapped his fingers as he drank. "Hands where I can see 'em."

"It's not like I'm wankin' him." Catherine placed both hands onto the tabletop.

Dessie nearly choked on his mouthful of beer.

Patrick responded by sticking his tongue out at her.

"Is a ghost joinin' us?" she asked, pointing to the pint sitting beside her father's.

"Patience was never a virtue ya possessed, Catherine Mary." Patrick kept his eye glued to the door. He stood up when he saw a brunette man, not much older than Catherine, walk in. Holding out his hand, he greeted the stranger rather friendly. "Garrett, boy, thanks for meetin' us. This is my daughter, Catherine, and her fella, Dessie."

Garrett shook Dessie's hand first. "Dennehy, right?

"Depends who's askin'," he said, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"My Da is Sean Campbell. If memory serves, you worked with him down in Cross."

Dessie knew exactly who Sean Campbell was. He'd been the brigade quartermaster when Dessie joined the Provisionals in 1984.

"I remember your da well. How's he doin' since he retired?"

"As well as you'd guess. He's in the Republic, bitchin' about everythin' and anythin'."

When Catherine shook Garrett's hand, she couldn't figure out why the name Sean Campbell seemed so familiar. Then it hit her; he'd been one of the men she met in Crossmaglen when Jimmy brought her down there. The first time he ever let Catherine get her hands on a sniper rifle.

Garrett sat in the booth and picked up his pint.

"His da and I were in Long Kesh together," Patrick said to Catherine and Dessie. "Couple'a times a year, we meet for a drink, gossip like we're a pair of fuckin' schoolgirls. A while ago he told me his boy here, was livin' in Belfast. Who also - believe it or not - just so happens to work at the Northern Bank."

Garrett looked over his shoulder before leaning over the table and lowering his voice. "Look, I'm not gonna dick youse around and I think we can help each other out."

"How so?" Catherine probed.

Garrett glanced at Patrick and only spoke when he was given the head-nod of approval. "I need money and youse need money. You need access to the vaults, I hold a key that opens the vaults. Tell me the day and time, and I'll make sure I'm the one there so it goes down smoothly. All I ask is that I get a cut."

Dessie drummed his fingers on the table as he thought for a moment. He asked Catherine, "Head out for a smoke?"

She nodded. Following Dessie out of the booth, she told Patrick and Garrett they'd be right back. Stepping out onto the Falls Road, they rounded the corner onto a residential street. Dessie lit a cigarette then handed it to Catherine before lighting one for himself.

"What are ya thinkin'?"

"It can't be this easy, can it?" she wondered aloud. "Like, what are we gonna do? Just fuckin' waltz in there and stuff holdalls with cash?"

"No, we'd use wooden crates. They're a clean burn, won't leave anythin' behind. Ya trust him, though?"

"Yes, and no. I don't know him at all, but I think my Da really wants to help the lad out. He was the one who suggested the place when I mentioned we needed fundin'."

Dessie leaned up against the wall, planting a foot against the worn brick. "I'm just as hesitant. But what other options do we have? I mean, don't get me wrong, your plan was sound, but what if we did just waltz in? If we do this right, it could be hours before anyone realizes what happened."

She couldn't deny he had a point. The goal is to draw the least amount of attention as possible, and that opportunity practically landed in their laps. It still didn't change the fact she knew absolutely nothing about Garrett Campbell. So what if his father had once been in the Ra? As far as Catherine was concerned, he could be setting them up to be nabbed by the PSNI. He admitted he needed money, and as she learned, when a man was desperate he'd make drastic decisions.

If Liam could be a tout, anyone could.

Garrett was known to other republicans and that made Catherine even wearier. They couldn't afford to ignore the possibility he was being paid-off by either the Kings or Jimmy to keep an eye on her movements in Belfast.

"I get your point, but I dunno, Dess. How are we supposed to know he won't double-cross us with the peelers or the Kings?"

Flicking his cigarette onto the street, Dessie understood her apprehension. There was too much at risk to blindly trust someone, even if that someone was the son of a trusted senior officer. He had an idea they'd be thinking the same thing, but he still wanted to make sure they were on the right page.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Regardless, we'd be eejits if we didn't at least consider it. We should tell him we need time to talk it over with the others. And in the meantime, we start surveillance and a lot of it. On him and his family, the bank. Too bad we don't have the ISU in our corner, because then we could have those lads question him."

"I agree we should be watchin' him like a hawk for a wee bit before we decide to use him as our in." Dessie smirked, "As for the ISU not bein' in our corner, though - I wouldn't be so sure about that, O'Toole. If only ya knew what Darragh and I were up to all those years ago."

Tossing her smoke, Catherine hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. "And I suppose there's no chance of ya ever tellin' me."

"Sorry baby." He kissed her forehead. "But those are secrets I'll be takin' to me'grave. We should head back in before Paddy comes out lookin' for us."

Patrick was still getting used to the idea of Catherine having a boyfriend again. Dessie knew he was at the mercy of the protective father, especially since Patrick was privy to the wandering eye Dessie had at the beginning of his marriage, and then the string of one night stands towards the end. Unbeknownst to Catherine, Dessie was working overtime on winning over Patrick's approval, trying to prove the past playboy behavior he displayed would never find its way into the relationship with her.

What Catherine couldn't understand, was why Patrick was having such a difficult time warming up to Dessie. As for Dessie, he prayed hard his philandering past wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"Aye," she said, wrapping an arm around his side as they started walking. "Hey, ya can't deny my Da's makin' progress. He referred to ya as my fella, not just 'that bloke' as he usually does. Now come on, I'll buy ya a shot of potcheen."

Dessie's stomach twisted. "Just hearin' you say the word makes me wanna puke."